Path of the Forager: A Culinary Odyssey

As I lay there, unable to sleep, my mind drifted back to when I first met Mundi. It felt like a lifetime ago—before Ana, before university, back when the game was still a new escape from the real world. I’d only been playing for a short time, fumbling through quests, unsure of myself. But then Mundi appeared.

I was 12, still figuring out the intricacies of the MMORPG I had recently become obsessed with. I remember navigating through one of the early open-world missions, trying to complete a quest where I was supposed to gather supplies from a merchant in a bustling village. But something was off. None of the NPCs were responding to me, and I couldn’t interact with the quest markers. Frustrated, I ran in circles, checking my interface and wondering if I had missed a step.

That’s when I saw him—Mundifico. He stood near the central fountain, a tall figure in sleek, dark armor that looked more detailed and polished than anything I had seen in the game before. His character didn’t fit with the chaotic, slightly glitchy environment. He didn’t look like an ordinary player either. Everything about him radiated a calm authority, and he seemed to move with a confidence that made him stand out from the sea of players and NPCs.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I approached and typed into the chat:

Ani: “Hey, are you having trouble with the NPCs too? They’re not responding.”

Almost immediately, he replied in the chat box, but his words appeared in perfect, formal text:

Mundifico: “It appears the quest script has encountered a minor bug. One moment.”

I blinked. The way he spoke—through text, but with such precision—caught me off guard. Players usually had casual, if not chaotic, conversations, but this was different. Before I could type a response, Mundifico moved toward one of the merchants, and suddenly, everything snapped back into place. The NPCs came to life again, walking their usual paths, and the quest markers reappeared.

Ani: “How did you do that?” I typed, staring at my screen in disbelief.

Mundifico: “Just a bug in the system. Happens sometimes. It’s fixed now.”

I stood there, staring at the screen, feeling like I was talking to someone important without even knowing why. His name, Mundifico, stuck out. It wasn’t just a random username.

Ani: “Thanks. Are you like… a mod or something?”

He paused, as if considering how much to say.

Mundifico: “Not exactly. I’m one of the designers of the game.”

My heart skipped a beat. I was chatting with a game designer—someone who had actually built this world I’d been exploring. I had a thousand questions suddenly bubbling up inside of me, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to seem like a kid, even though that’s exactly what I was. So instead, I focused on the one thing that intrigued me the most.

Ani: “What does your name mean? Mundifico.”

There was a slight delay before his next message appeared, like he was amused by the question.

Mundifico: “It’s Latin. ‘Mundos aedifico.’ It means, ‘I build worlds.’”

I sat there for a moment, letting that sink in. I had always thought usernames were just random, something people threw together. But here was someone who had chosen his name with intention, someone who didn’t just play in this game—he built it.

Ani: “That’s… really cool. So, you built this place? Like, everything?”

Mundifico: “In collaboration with others, yes. I handle the larger concepts. The structure of the world, the rules, the physics. I design the framework so others can create within it.”

I was floored. Here I was, struggling to figure out how to finish a basic quest, and this guy was out here building entire worlds. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. What could I possibly say to someone like that?

Ani: “How do you even start something like that?”

Mundifico didn’t answer right away. His character turned toward me, and though I couldn’t see his real face, I imagined him looking thoughtfully at my avatar.

Mundifico: “It starts with an idea. A purpose. You need to know what kind of world you want to create before you can build it. The rest is just detail. What kind of world would you build?”

I stared at the screen, taken aback. No one had ever asked me that before. I wasn’t sure how to answer. A part of me wanted to impress him, to say something profound, but the truth slipped out instead.

Ani: “I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

Mundifico: “You should. Building worlds isn’t just about coding or design. It’s about shaping something meaningful. Think about what’s important to you, and build from there.”

I remember sitting there in silence, my mind spinning. He didn’t treat me like a kid, didn’t dismiss my inexperience. Instead, he spoke like I was someone capable of understanding, of learning.

Ani: “I don’t know much about coding or building games… yet.”

Mundifico: “That can come later. The tools are secondary. If you want to build, start by learning to observe. Learn what makes a world feel alive. Learn to see the details others miss.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but that conversation planted a seed. After we said our goodbyes, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. I began paying attention, not just to the game, but to everything—how things worked, how systems connected, how little details made everything feel more real. And it wasn’t long before I started teaching myself the basics of coding, world-building, and design. Mundifico had sparked something in me, something that grew into my passion for creating, both in the game and in real life.

And now, years later, that same person, Mundi, had sent me a quest. Except this time, it wasn’t just virtual—it was real. Or at least, it felt real.

I took a deep breath and shifted in my sleeping bag, my wrist still tingling where the spiral tattoo glowed faintly in the darkness. I hadn’t explored the screen thoroughly yet, but now was as good a time as any.

Carefully, I brought up the screen again, focusing my gaze until it appeared in front of me. Ten tabs were lined up across the top, each labeled in neat, almost elegant script.

Quests, Party, Map, Focus, Path (greyed out), Skills (greyed out), Inventory, Attunement (greyed out), Journal, Connections.

I blinked, trying to process the array of options. They weren’t so different from the menus I’d seen in the game, but seeing them here, now, in this context, felt jarring. What did it all mean? Why was this happening to us?

I decided to start simple. Quests. I was already on that tab so I took a look again.

Meet Mundi in Tyra – A small green dot hovered beside this quest, pulsing gently.

There was nothing new here. I tried to focus on the green dot and it went grey. The quest was still there but the dot was grey. I left it grey and tried to focus on the quest itself but nothing happened. I focused on the grey dot again and it turned back to green. I would have to think about what that meant later.

I shifted my focus again and opened the Party tab, curious to see if it might show something related to Ana. The screen showed only one name—Ani—and no other party members. Maybe we had to join each other’s party to make it happen. I didn’t see anything on the screen for inviting people, it just had my name. Maybe I can’t do that yet.

Map came next. The screen flickered for a moment before pulling up a rough, abstract layout of the forest. The areas we had explored were visible, but everything else was fogged out, shrouded in a grey mist that blocked out details. There were no clear labels or directions, just the surrounding terrain, and at the very center was a small dot representing where we were. Farther out—was that a marker for Tyra? I squinted, but the map remained too vague to be of much use for navigation at this point.

I noticed a pin icon at the edge of the map, but it was greyed out. It looks like it will allow me to place markers or add notes to different areas in the future. I could see this becoming useful later when we explored more of the forest.

Next, I clicked on Focus. Instead of displaying numbers or stats, the screen revealed a shifting scale—a representation of my current mental clarity and awareness. It wasn’t something I could measure precisely, but I could feel where I stood. The bar fluctuated slightly, showing a range between two extremes: Hyper Focus at one end and Scattered at the other.

At the moment, I was somewhere in the middle—my Focus was steady but not sharp. The stress of the day had dulled it, leaving me alert but not as aware as I could be. I had enough clarity to think and act, but not enough to tune into every detail around me. Too little, and I wouldn’t be able to keep my thoughts in line—unable to concentrate or stay grounded. But too much Focus, I realized, could also be dangerous. It might narrow my vision, cut me off from the world around me, leaving me so immersed in a task that I’d miss signs of danger or fail to notice what was happening beyond my immediate thoughts.

Focus, I realized, wasn’t static. It was influenced by everything—fatigue, emotions, distractions. It was like balancing on a tightrope between mindfulness and over-immersion. If I let myself become too tired or too emotionally overwhelmed, I could slide into distraction, where I wouldn’t be able to think straight. But if I concentrated too hard, I might become too absorbed—hyper-aware of one thing while completely blind to everything else.

There was no perfect place to be on the scale, only the challenge of finding the right balance depending on the situation. Right now, I was just tired enough that my focus wasn’t sharp. I wondered how much worse it could get if I didn’t rest soon. Would my thoughts scatter completely? Or would I fall into a single-minded state where nothing else existed?

I glanced at the greyed-out tabs for Path, Skills, and Attunement. I wasn’t able to access them yet. It was clear these sections represented something important, but whatever they held wasn’t available to me—at least not yet. It’s possible I will have to reach certain milestones before I could unlock them.

I clicked on Inventory, which showed our gear: camping supplies, food, water, Ana’s sketchpad, and my watch—though the watch was no longer on me, replaced by the spiral tattoo. This was interesting to be able to see my inventory this way. Now if I only had a bag of holding. We could move faster if it was lighter.

Finally, I tapped on Connections, hoping for more clarity.

Two names appeared: Ana and Mundi. Ana’s name glowed faintly, just like Mundi’s. I stared at the screen for a moment, wondering if this meant Ana was part of the same system, even though she hadn’t interacted with it directly. There were no status messages next to the names, and when I tried focusing on them, nothing happened. No way to communicate—not yet, at least.

I sighed and closed the screen, staring up at the dark ceiling of the tent. So many questions swirled in my mind, and still, I had no clear answers. Tomorrow, I’d have to start explaining some of this to Ana, and together we’d need to figure out our next steps. This wasn’t just about finding our way out of the forest anymore—it was about understanding the world we were now connected to.

Were we stuck here? Was this just some strange virtual world, a game we had unknowingly logged into? Or was this something more? Everything about this felt so unreal—the quests, the map, the strange tattoos. I rubbed my wrist absentmindedly, feeling the spiral pulse faintly beneath my fingers. It was like being in the middle of a dream you couldn’t wake up from, but the reality of it pressed down on me with every breath.

I turned to check on Ana, her small form curled up in her sleeping bag, breathing softly. She was sound asleep, her face peaceful despite everything we had gone through today. I felt a pang of guilt for not being able to give her more answers, for not understanding this situation any better than she did. But we had each other, and for now, that was enough.

I reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked sleepily at me, then smiled, her fingers signing a simple question: "Are you okay, Mommy?"

I smiled back, my heart swelling. "Yes, sweetheart," I signed. "Just thinking. Go back to sleep."

Ana nodded, her eyes already closing again, her trust in me unwavering. I watched her for a while longer, letting the rhythm of her breath soothe my nerves. At least she could rest, even in the midst of all this.

But I couldn’t sleep, not yet. My mind was too crowded—with questions, worries, and what might come next. I lay there, staring at the faint outline of the tent’s ceiling, thinking about the forest, about Mundi, and the strange quest that now connected us to this place. Eventually, my thoughts began to blur, exhaustion pulling at me, and I hoped that tomorrow would bring some clarity.